


Before and After

by Morpheus626



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25274707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: A request from @elliotslament on Tumblr: "A reader x Elliot fit where gender neutral reader comforts Elliot during 4x08 and sings him to sleep in French."A warning that this does mention a history of sexual abuse and the perpetrator of it, however at no point is there any detail about said abuse, only that it is noted to have been sexual in nature. I have set the rating to mature for this reason, because even though there is no detail of it, it felt better to at least keep the rating at Mature.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> I admit I hemmed and hawed over what song to use for this (I had to dig into my list of French favorites from when I was actively studying it) and finally I landed on Avant La Haine by Alex Beaupain. While it is intended more about love, I think has the right vibe to fit with the mood of this piece (also I’ve literally never been able to get it out of my head since I heard it. I can’t do more than order a drink in French now, but I could still sing you this song with ease, so welcome everyone so searches it out now to also having it in your head forever lol.) Plus, from experience I know it can be slowed down easily to sound a little bit sadder, and that definitely fits here.

“You didn’t have to come,” Elliot said as he let you into his apartment.

“You called me, said nothing, then hung up. Of course I was going to come over and check on you,” you said. “You look exhausted.” 

Haunted was more accurate a term for him, but you didn’t think it would help anyone to hear that used to describe them. 

“Why don’t we sit?” 

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t even be here right now. I’ve got work to do, there’s no time for-” 

“For me?” you interrupted softly. “Sit and rest for a just a moment. Do it for me, so I won’t worry about you so much?” 

He dropped onto his couch with a gentle thud, and you sat beside him. 

But he was a ball of nervous energy, his hands clasped together and shaking. 

“Talk.” 

He shook his head.

“We promised we wouldn’t do this to each other,” you continued. “I can’t help if I don’t have some idea of what’s going on.” 

You had, on a day that felt a lifetime ago now. Both of you had promised not to shut down on each other in rough moments, as much as you could help it, at least. 

“You don’t want to know,” Elliot sighed, his voice as shaky as his hands. “I didn’t want to know it, and if I could go back to not knowing it….not remembering it…I think I would.” 

“Elliot-” 

“My dad,” he interrupted you, and turned to face you, tears in his eyes. “It was him. He…” 

The tears fell, and he started to curl in on himself. You were only barely able to carefully pull him sideways and up instead, so he was laying on the couch, his head in your lap. 

You had always wondered. You knew some of the signs well enough yourself, from your own varied traumas. 

But all the same, you had wanted so desperately to be wrong in presuming that someone in Elliot’s family had sexually abused him, and it killed you to learn now that your presumption had been right. 

He choked out all of it to you, every memory, in between sobs that sounded painful enough it made you want to cry in sympathy and empathy. Instead, you held it all back and let him weep. 

Outside, snow started to fall heavily, and the cold seeped into the apartment. You weren’t sure if the heating was on, or even working. 

“Let me get a blanket,” you said, and started to move. 

His hand grasped your wrist, hard. “Please stay. I can’t…I need someone here.” 

“I’m not leaving,” you reassured him, and his grip loosened. “I’m only getting a blanket so you don’t freeze.” 

He moved enough so you could get up, and you retrieved the one extra blanket from the bedroom closet (yours, left after a night together when you realized he had no extra bedding, blankets, nothing at all.) 

“What about you?” He asked gently, sweet in a way that broke your heart. “I have my hoodie on, you only have your sweater, you should have this.” 

“I’m fine,” you replied. “I’ll cling to you if I get cold. You need it more than me right now.” 

He looked like he was thinking of arguing, of protesting, but instead he laid his head back on your lap and reached for your hand. 

You let him hold one, the other playing with what little hair he didn’t shave off, fluffing it for him the way you watched him do whenever he was particularly stressed. 

“You need to sleep.” 

“How do I sleep when it’s all I can think about. I don’t want to think about it in my sleep, I don’t want to see him-” Elliot’s voice cracked, and the tears fell anew, and just when you thought your heart couldn’t hurt anymore for him, it did even more. 

“I’ll be here. That’ll give you something else to think about while you sleep.” 

“I don’t want you to see me like that. If I dream about it, if I can’t stop thinking about it…” His hand held yours tightly enough it was almost uncomfortable. But you couldn’t blame him. In moments like these a person needed a tether, someone to cling onto to weather the storm. 

You’d let him crush your hand if he needed to, if it got him through. 

“You’ve seen me after night terrors, after sleep paralysis episodes. If you can see me like that, then I can see you after whatever nightmares those memories might bring. And I’ll be here to help you sleep after each one, however many might be stirred up,” you murmured, and started humming a song under your breath. 

You had heard the song in a movie, you thought, ages ago now. The plot of the film had fallen away, but the song remained fresh in your mind. 

His breathing slowed some the louder you hummed, and you decided to push your luck. 

You sang quietly, loud enough that only he could hear. 

“What does all that mean?” his voice was muffled by the blanket as he used his free hand to pull it up around his neck and face, a shiver wracking his body. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, after you’ve slept some,” you interrupted the song and said. 

“What if there isn’t time?” Elliot yawned. “I don’t think there’s much time left for me at all.” 

“We’ll find time. If not tomorrow, then some other day. I’ll always find time for you,” you replied.

You waited a moment for another comment or question from him, but he only sighed and snuggled against you. 

You started up the song again, singing through it over and over until your throat began to hurt, until his hand finally dropped from yours, until he snored lightly. Until he was finally at some sort of peace. 

But it was an ill-kept peace, and not a few moments later he moved, and whimpered. 

You started the song again, and ran your fingers carefully through the curls in his hair, your other hand moved to rub at his shoulder. He stilled, and slept calmly again.

It made for a long night, but it was a worthwhile one. Each time you calmed him again, with the most gentle of touches and the song, felt like a victory. 

Over the world, and how it tore him apart inside. 

Over the important work he was doing, and how the worry over it ate him up.

Over every hurt he held inside, and tried desperately to fight in any way he could. 

For sure, it was one over his father. He had made the nights, sleep, feel unsafe in the worst way for Elliot. You could never, would never, forgive him for what he had done to him. 

But at least this night, and if you had your way more nights to come, you could make them safe for Elliot. You could bring him peace so he could sleep. 

And you knew in your heart you would sing until your voice gave out for good if it meant that for Elliot. It was the very least anyone could do for a boy hurting so deeply. 


End file.
